


A Little Closer to the Ground

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Category: Entourage
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-19
Updated: 2007-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1641881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy to take people for granted, until they go away.  Eric leaves, and Vince has to figure out what made him go, and what would make him stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Closer to the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ro for the reassurances, for beta-ing, and for general awesomeness.
> 
> Written for lovelokest

 

 

_He remembers -_

They were at a party. Paris danced on a table blind drunk, Cory flashed her tits at him, a couple of other blonde actresses he couldn't name but had probably nailed waved at him across the room. He'd done shot after shot off two women who claimed to be a) twins and b) Playmates in training, knowing neither fact likely, and watched Eric dancing all night with a lithe pretty brunette, their bodies pressed closed together but in an almost innocent way considering the people around them. He'd been distracted for a while when Bunny #1 (or was it #2?) got down on her knees for him in the mens' bathroom, but after, it was like E hadn't even noticed he was gone, and he knew he was done for the night.

He remembers coming up behind E and his girl, still entwined in the middle of the dancefloor, and slipping an arm loosely around E's waist to pull them part. "Party's over," he'd probably slurred, and maybe E made a disgruntled noise and maybe he didn't; but he let himself be tugged away, tucked neatly into Vince's side instead. "You drive," he said, once the shock of the night air had slapped some wakefulness back into him, though not before he'd stepped up close and pushed the keys deep into the front pocket of E's jeans, hands lingering a touch too long. "I'm too drunk." E had just laughed knowingly and shrugged him off lightly.

He remembers stumbling against E's back at the door to the house, mouth wet and open against the thin material of Eric's shirt, leaning against him, breathing him in - gingery aftershave, sweat, and skin. He remembers E fumbling with the keys then, opening the door too suddenly so that they tumble into the foyer still pressed together, his mouth sliding upwards, now against Eric's ear, saying - he remembers saying -

* * *

Vince wakes on the left side of the bed, the other half cold and empty but the sheets mussed. He frowns, but can't remember bringing anyone home last night. He pulls on an old pair of shorts, an even older t-shirt, and pads slowly down to the kitchen. Outside the sun is already high in the sky, and Johnny is in the middle of preparing lunch.

"Hey there little bro," Johnny greets him, turning the volume down when he receives only a wince in return. "That must have been some party you were at last night."

There's a veiled accusation under the concern - Vince's name doesn't score as many invites as it used to - but Vince ignores it in favour of settling down on one of the benches and gulping down the glass of water Johnny hands to him.

"Did either of you see a girl clearing out of here this morning?" he asks instead, curious.

"Nah," Turtle says, "Was she hot? If she was hot then I wished I had."

"Of course she was hot, the Chase men don't settle for anything less," Drama growls. "So...uh, how hot, Vince?"

"I don't remember," Vince says, "I had _a lot_ to drink last night."

Turtle and Drama crow loudly, until Vince clutches his head, and they drop it down to some silent laughter. "Man you haven't been this wasted forever," Turtle teases, "Must've been in some mood last night."

"Oh, Vince, E left early this morning, crack of dawn almost, while I was doing my crunches."

Vince frowns again. "He say why he was out that early?" Last night, last night has something to do with Eric.

"Nope. He was dressed up all fancy though, in a suit and shit."

"Maybe Ari called and set up a meeting for something," Turtle suggests, and both Vince and Drama straighten up. Vince says excitedly, "You think?" and Drama says at the same time, "You think there might be something in it for me too?"

After Cannes, there were still offers, sure - offers for C movies, made-for-TV dramas, soaps - and Eric had thrown script after script in the reject pile in disgust, promising Vince something better, something decent to tide him over while Silo languished in development hell. Until Ari had an hour long meltdown slash screaming fit about beggars not being fucking choosers and without a job Vince would soon have better offers selling his pretty ass on the street.

"Thanks," Vince had drawled lazily, with a grin, and then Ari turned his fury on him instead.

"You think I'm kidding, Vinnie? You don't think I haven't already considered that possibility? At least that way one of us would be making some money out of this mess, you asshole."

Vince had looked at Eric then, and E had his eyes closed, face tight, and he'd said, "Fine Ari, you and E work it out, and I'll do whatever project you and E can agree on the most."

So there'd been a five ep guest stint on Ugly Betty, playing a long-lost cousin, and that'd had been good for his profile at least ("TV is hot right now," Ari had argued over and over with E, "Even Glenn fucking Close is committing to six seasons, you want quality you little shit, how's that for quality?") and then he'd followed that up with a light romantic comedy based on a book based on an early 90s TV series no one saw but the critics that caught it still dismissed it as derivative. Vince took second billing behind his blonde, perky and barely legal romantic lead, who was trying to launch a movie career off the back of a long-running variety show for tweens. She'd simpered at him on set, maintained a demure distance throughout filming, and then on the second last night of filming had surprised him turning up naked in his hotel bed.

"Oh god, you sent her back to her room straight away, right?" E had said the next morning when Vince told him about it at breakfast. "Please tell me you put a robe around your seventeen year old co-star, called her chaperone, and had them escort her back to her room."

"Hey, I'm a gentleman," Vince had answered, stretching his arms above and behind his head. E relaxed a tiny fraction. "And a gentleman never tells." Vince continued blithely, and E froze again. A minute later, said jailbait sauntered by their table and said sultrily, "Good morning Vince," with a little wave of her hand and a toss of her head. Vince had given E a shrug and continued tucking into his eggs.

Now, three months later, Vince knows he needs work, not just to keep them afloat, but to keep him from being distracted. He puts his empty plate in the sink, turns and says casually, "So, what are our plans for the day, guys?"

"I got a call to be on set at 3 and Ed wanted me to run some lines with Jimmy beforehand so I gotta get going," Johnny says apologetically, but Vince is totally okay with the fact his older brother is finally getting the credit he deserves.

"I got no plans," Turtle says, flopping onto one of the couches in front of the big-screen TV, "Except this bag of fine weed right here and some Halo, hell yeah!" He cocks his head at Vince, and Vince smiles and takes up position on the other couch. He has a twinge of guilt when he thinks about the script sitting by his bed that E left for him to read two days ago, the one with a bright pink post-it on the front screaming URGENT, but E's not here to ride him about it, and one more day isn't going to hurt.

The sun's almost set when the buzz of Vince's phone stirs them both out of their languor. Vince reads the display upside down from the couch, then sits up too quickly, feeling the blood rush to his head. "Ari?" he says as he flips the phone open, "What up, my man?" Ari never calls him direct. Vince has a flash of panic, something cold and slimy slithering in his guts, of something bad that must've happened to E. But he keeps his tone light.

"What's fucking up, Vince, is that your fucking manager has gone missing and you don't seem to be particularly worried, which makes you a moron and it hurts me to say that Vinnie boy, it really does. But. Where. The. Fuck. Is. E? He was supposed to get back to me this afternoon about a script that Paramount sent over two days ago, the one with Reese Witherspoon attached that you were lucky, shit no, it was miraculous that you were even considered for it. So you better know where he is, and why the fuck the last time I called his cell half an hour ago an airport cleaner was answering his fucking phone."

"Eric's not with you?" Vince says stupidly, and through the ear piece he hears Ari laughing hysterically and derisively all at once.

"Oh shit, you have no idea either, do you? FUCK. Lloyd, get your ass in here. Ring all the airline companies and find out if an Eric Murphy bought tickets to anywhere - when did you see him last, Vince? Last night? Drama saw him this morning. Okay - harass all those brain dead ticket dispensers and squeeze the answer out of them. Don't fucking gape at me, just get on your little phone and fucking do it. Fuck!"

Vince imagines Ari on the other end of the line, phone to his ear, pacing his goldfish bowl of an office, one hand pulling and pinching at the skin between his eyebrows. He focuses on Ari's anger and not on the words, focuses on Turtle looking increasingly worried from his position on the other couch.

"Wait, Ari, I just - " He hangs up on Ari, the stream of loud and tinny invective blessedly out of his head, and presses for the first number programmed into his phone. There's no answer, no voice mail either and Vince lets it ring out. Then he tries again: same result. He about to try for the third time when Ari rings through again.

"An E. Murphy bought an open ticket to Bangkok leaving on a flight from LAX at 8:20am this morning. E discuss any long service leave with you, Vinnie? You had a lover's tiff and needed some time apart? E has a fetish for ladyboys that he couldn't indulge here on the Strip? What the fuck is going on, Vince?"

Vince is silent for a moment. "I don't know. I don't remember," he says quietly, as it finally sinks in that Eric has left him without a word.

* * *

_He remembers saying -_

"E, you have to carry me up to my room, I'm too drunk to walk, E." Laughing and clasping his arms around Eric's neck, as if his best friend could piggyback him up the stairs. But he leaves his arms there, and rests his head contentedly against E's, even as E grunts and holds them both up by leaning heavily against the balustrade.

"Vince, you're gonna - just -" Eric struggles with him, and manages to unhook one of his arms. "Keep to this side of me, okay? We'll do this step by step together." E supporting him with one arm snug across his back, fingers curving around his waist, and he loves it, this security, the warmth of their bodies against each other.

"E, you spent all your time tonight with that girl, why'd you do that, you could've come and done shots with me and the blonde twins," he whines, nudging his nose against Eric's neck.

He can feel Eric half-sighing, half-laughing, as he answers, "What, so I could be as blind drunk as you are right now? Someone had to drive you home. And her name's Penny. She's a script editor over at Paramount. She's a contact we need to have at the moment."

"I bet you wanted to have more contact with her," he says slyly, and hiccups as he laughs at his own joke. "Not that you two weren't all over each other plenty."

"We were discussing business," Eric says patiently. Which makes Vince laugh and say, "Oh, you mean me. You were discussing me."

"The movie business doesn't begin and end with you," E says dryly, and Vince can't help but snort and say then, "But your world does, doesn't it? Being your one and only client, I'm your priority right?"

E goes silent after that, but they're getting to the top of the stairs and it gets trickier trying to navigate around the bend to his room. But as E lowers him gently onto his bed and moves away, he reaches out and pulls Eric back, shifting across the bed so Eric can settle in next to him. "Stay with me," he remembers saying, "I don't want to be alone tonight. Stay."

Eric moves to get up and says, "Vince, I'll just be next door, you're not -"

"The way that girl was looking at you tonight, she wanted you, but you didn't look at her the same way. Aren't you afraid of missing out and ending up all alone? Why don't you look at anyone that way, E?"

Eric shifts uncomfortably and says, "Vince, you need some sleep. I'll talk to you in the morning, okay?"

"No, Eric, I asked you to stay, why won't you stay, E?" He remembers gripping Eric tight around the wrist, refusing to let him go. He remembers moving closer, closer -

* * *

Jane blows into his life without forewarning and the takeover is so sudden, so complete after Eric's betrayal - Vince knows it is ridiculous to call it so, and yet he nurses the word and the hurt in his memories constantly - that Vince doesn't have the energy or time to fight it. Ari browbeats him into taking her on as his new manager, switching manically from sleazily charming to bursts of vitriol in his pleading for Vince to do something positive for his career for once. Vince doesn't know what to make of her at first - he peers at her tiny, stiff frame sitting upright in the dead centre of the couch in Ari's office, the spreading bulk around her hips, the stern glasses - and gives Ari a look askance.

"Yes, she's an old battleaxe," Ari tells him, voice impatient, "and you're not gonna find better management in this town. Vinnie, trust me. When have I ever been wrong?" Vince raises an eyebrow and wishes again the E was here, knows that E wouldn't hesitate to jump in and bat that one right back at Ari. Ari grimaces, then leans forwards and whispers, almost conspiratorially in Vince's ear, "Also, this way I know you're not gonna fuck up by sleeping with her."

Vince freezes, first impulse to protest the accusation lying beneath Ari's joke, then forces himself to laugh. "That's how Mrs Ari screened the nannies, wasn't it?" he fires back, then adds lazily, as if an afterthought, "Fine, she's hired, if she'll take on a mess like me."

The next morning at six AM sharp, she's ringing the doorbell with a venomous amount of force, a detailed plan of attack on her PDA. "You might not have employment at the moment," she tells him seriously, "but you still have a career, Vincent. You are an actor, a very marketable one, and we just have to convince people that your last movie featured a remarkable demonstration of your acting abilities, if not your producing skills." She pauses, and taps away at a neverending list on the screen before her, ticking and crossing items as they scroll past, barely lifting her eyes to glance at Vince before continuing, "You do want to show those clowns that they're wrong about you, that you're not another washed up pretty boy actor?"

Vince bristles at her description, and she laughs, the first sign of humour Vince has seen on her face, and it makes her look five years younger, the lines creased around her eyes and mouth upturned, suddenly friendlier. Still Vince stiffens as she places a matronly hand on his knee and says, "I'm on your side, Vince. I'll do my job, and I'll make damn sure you get to do yours. Your previous manager - well, he was new to the game, and I'm sure he did his best before he got in over his head, the poor boy. You won't have to worry about that from me."

Vince tells himself that it's a relief that Jane runs him ragged in the months following, chasing good publicity and plum roles. He tells himself that he barely has time to think about Eric, because, as promised, Jane is so fucking good at her job. She gets him small puff pieces in local magazines, appearances at parties for a better class of Hollywood than he's been mixing with, an asskissing profile about his sartorial sense in InStyle. He obediently goes where Jane and Ari tell him to go, turns on the charm and does what they tell him to do, and thanks his lucky stars for the magic store of goodwill and dirty secrets Jane must hold over a fair few people to get him back in the town's good books.

"She got some remote controlling when and how you eat, shit and sleep?" Turtle growls after Vince turns down a GTA rematch in favour of reading another script.

"You just don't like her because she thought you were the dogwalker," Johnny laughs. "Hey, Vinnie, did you ask her again if she wants to take on another client? Eddie says Five Towns is a lock for a second season, your older bro is going places this time, for real. I might need a manager to look out for my interests, raise my profile a little, you know."

"I'll ask her tomorrow when she comes over to tell me about this new project with Cameron Diaz," Vince promises to see Johnny smile.

Turtle sits up, game on pause, and says, "Holy shit, Cameron Diaz?" Vince grins and nods, and Turtle shakes his head and says, "If she can get me on set with Cameron Diaz, then Jane is a-okay by me." Vince laughs along with them, and forgets neatly to mention that the part is for the best friend, not the guy who gets to kiss Cameron at the end.

Two weeks into filming, paparazzi get grainy snaps of Vince leaving Cameron's trailer with a smile, and the rumour mill goes into overdrive. He makes the front cover of People, a small inset picture by Cameron's face, but Jane, Ari _and_ Shauna greet that with matching grins, and soon after that Shauna organises a dinner party at the Ivy for cast and crew at Vince's expense, which means the week after that US Weekly has snaps of Cameron and Vince leaving the restaurant one after the other for their front cover, and then Vince can't leave home without photographers crawling all over his gate and car. The quantity, if not the quality, of scripts available to Vince seems to grow exponentially for each unsubstantiated rumour about his romantic relationship with a superstar.

Grabbing coffee before meeting up with Ari at the office, Vince walks past a newsstand with his face and name on almost all the gossip weeklies. It doesn't faze him, except he can't help but wonder if E is in a place where these magazines are even sold, if he notices Vince's face smiling at him as he walks past to go about a Vince-less day. He wonders if E is capable of going a day without wondering about Vince, like Vince wonders every waking moment of every day where E is now, why Eric would leave, poking and prodding over and over at the sore ache of missing E, and what he did that made Eric leave.

* * *

_He remembers moving closer, closer -_

Until E is trying pull out of his grip, saying, "Vince, what are you doing?" Vince moves until his mouth is right beneath Eric's and he can hear them both breathing, harsh and loud in the silence. E stops struggling, and they stay so close together for a moment, breathing the same air passed back and forth between the gap between their faces.

He remembers finally saying, very softly, "Why don't you look at me that way? Don't you want me, E?"

When he closes the brief warm distance between their lips in a kiss, not waiting for an answer, Eric kisses back like Vince knew he would. His kiss tastes like orange soda, and Vince grins a little when Eric moans as he sucks on E's tongue. He tugs at E's wrist again, and Eric settles on top of him, straddling Vince on the bed, mouth moving slowly from his mouth to his shoulders, hands skidding and sliding along Vince's side, seeking a hold. He places a hand over Eric's and guides it across his stomach, under his shirt, under the waist of his jeans. Eric groans, Vince echoes, as their intertwined fingers skim the top of his hips, the crease down to Vince's groin, and Vince rocks his body against Eric's and says throatily, "I want you to stay."

He flicks his eyes up to Eric's face. E is biting his lips, face flushed, and Vince can feel the tips of E's fingers brushing against his cock, faltering almost unconscious touches, and he surges upwards to catch E's bottom lip with his own mouth. "I want you," he starts to say again, and then Eric is kissing him back passionately, his hand grasping Vince tight, and Vince stops all thought and speech. But he remembers, oh he remembers what happens next.

* * *

"I think I'm gonna head home," Vince yells, trying to make himself heard over the pumping music over their heads.

"What?" Turtle yells back, but when Vince moves forward to repeat it, he hurriedly continues, "No, I heard you man, but why? Vince, the girls here tonight are _hot_." Turtle extends an arm to his left, an expansive movement meant to convey the general attractiveness on show, but all he manages to do is to slap a skinny blonde actress, a glorified extra, on the shoulder. She turns with a withering look on her face, but when she sees that Turtle is with Vince, she smiles coquettishly instead.

"I know, but I'm tired. You know how it is these days," Vince says, rubbing one hand over his brow and faking a yawn.

Turtle grimaces and says, "Yeah, I know how it is. What's up with you Vinnie, you've been no fun lately, ducking out on all the best parties, going home alone. Where did the Vincent Chase we know and love go? It's all work work work with you now. C'mon, live a little. Bag a hottie, and talk me up to her best friend."

"Hey, I still have fun," Vince counters, distractedly. "Just, I don't feel like that kind of fun tonight." But he knows there's an element of truth to what Turtle is saying, so he offers, "I'll drive myself home. You and Johnny should stay and have a good time."

Turtle says, "You sure? `Cos I'll come with if you really need me to." He says it sincerely, even as his eyes follow the path of a couple of barely dressed girls across the room.

Vince smiles, claps him across the back with gratitude, and says, "Yeah man, you should stay, definitely." H casts a quick eye over the room, then gives Turtle a little nudge. "The redhead over there's on her own. You should go talk to her, get her a drink." Turtle cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the target and grins, pulls back and starts moving away, saying, "Thanks man, I got it. Later!"

Vince weaves through the tightly packed crowd, slight smile on his face for the well-lubricated party people who've turned up to celebrate the premiere of some movie they have no part of. He'd lost his date as soon as the end credits started scrolling on screen, as she leaned over him to congratulate James Marsden and give him a good look at her cleavage. Driving home alone, the noise of the city slips away as he winds further up into the hills, until all that accompanies him is the loud silence of the dark empty house. He starts unbuttoning his shirt as soon as the front door is closed, and he's down to his undershirt when he walks past Eric's room. He peers in out of habit and a vain hope, as he's done each night for the past six months.

Except tonight, the light is on, and someone is home. E is standing by his bed, back to the door, methodically unpacking his suitcase, lifting each unfamiliar shirt out of the bag and onto his bed, smoothing them down gently each time. It's as if Eric's been on a day trip, as if no time has passed; like he hasn't been gone without a word for several months. In his chest, Vince can feel his heart clench, and he places a hand over the skin to hear it pounding angry and relieved and alive - _buh-BUMP, buh-BUMP_. E continues to lay out the evidence of a life away from Vince, and Vince continues to watch him without a word: the slow careful movements, the line of Eric's back, the tint of a summer tan dusted across his skin. Vince doesn't say a word as if noise and acknowledgement would break the spell and E would disappear into thin air once again.

"Good morning," E says the next morning, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it, a crisp noise like a gunshot. Turtle grunts and barely moves from his position slumped over the benchtop, nursing his hangover and a violent hickey raw under the stubble of his chin. Johnny waves his greeting and slaps an omelette down on a fresh plate and puts it in front of Eric. "All whites, just how you like `em."

Vince stares at them all, the rush of joy at the normality of the tableaux in front of him - everything in its right place - overcome with an equally overwhelming wave of anger and disbelief. It's like everyone took for granted that E was coming back, when Vince was worried the whole time that E would never return, that the damage was irreversible.

A sharp knock on the door jolts him out of his discomforting thoughts. "Jane," Vince says when he opens the door, then it hits him again that he Eric is back, and then he can only gasp her name again.

"I need to speak to Mr Murphy," she says briskly, and off his surprised look, she says, "It's my job, Vincent, to know these things. We have some things to discuss."

E begins badly, saying, "You've done an excellent job with Vince's career, and I don't think I have a right to demand my job back," to which Jane mutters, "Damn right you don't!" By lunchtime, Vince has said approximately six words in the past two hours ( _yes, no, uh, no, um okay_ ), Eric is meekly sitting on the couch beside him, and Jane is positively purring.

"That's settled then," she says, tapping away busily on her PDA. "I think you'll be a valuable asset to our company, Eric. You will definitely gain some valuable experience looking after some of our junior clients."

Vince can't even look at Eric at this point. He feels like he's been traded away like the baseball cards they hoarded at eleven, passed around like a cheap drunk prom date. Everyone's career benefits out of this arrangement, but Vince still feels like the loser.

"We should go out and celebrate," Johnny says when he hears about the deal, "And I don't feel like cooking either. What do you say, little bro?"

Eric laughs, and then says, "It'll be my shout, Vince. Since this is effectively a promotion." He left during the afternoon to settle into his new offices and to meet one of his new clients, and came back smelling of Chanel No. 5 when Vince leans in against his cheek.

"Let's hit the clubs afterwards, we haven't done that in ages," Turtle butts in. "Vince has been real mopey since you - for a while. Pining after you, E." He makes kissy noises until Drama swats him around the head and says, "Shut up Turtle." E smiles tightly and says quietly, "This is just like old times, huh."

They have dinner at One, then head for Ivar. "We're gonna have fun tonight, right?" Vince yells over the noise at Turtle when they walk in, and Turtle laughs and says, "Fuck yeah, welcome back Vinnie!"

In the three months following, Vince manages to fuck three waitresses, two past co-stars, one actress who's already signed onto the next pic Ari and Jane are negotiating on, a supermodel, Emily the script editor from Paramount who they run into one night at Les Deux, and also five guys. The first was a mistake made by a combination of too much Cuervo, dim lighting and a slim figure, the second to fourth experiments because the first gave great head, and by the fifth time Vince stops lying to himself and finds someone who could easily pass for Eric in the darkness of the club.

Four months to the day he returned, Eric snaps, yells, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" even as he stands patiently by Vince's side and holds his head back, wiping away the thread of vomit still hanging from the corner of his lips when he's done heaving the night into the gutter. Vince gulps greedily at the fresh air, the chill breeze, and fights the spasm of his gut. He pushes E away and gets up off his knees with unsteady legs, casting a bleary gaze around their surroundings.

"We're home?" he asks, and Eric sighs and says, "Yeah, luckily. That would've made for one - one _more_ , sorry - unflattering picture of you for the paps this week. Christ, Shauna's been on my case all day about how many stories she's had to blackmail columnists out of using these past few weeks. You've been the answer to three blind items recently, Vince, and we can't keep people guessing forever. Fuck. You're not even my responsibility at the moment."

Vince hunches, hands on his thighs, and says meanly, "Yeah, and whose fucking fault is that?" The world keeps spinning, the sour and bitter burn still in his mouth, and all he wants to do is drink some more to wash out the taste and go to sleep for a long long time.

"You were doing fine without me," E says resignedly. "You're still doing fine, except for this weird lapse in judgment every single night. Jane got you signed on as the lead opposite Natalie Portman in that indie flick you wanted, and Ari's working on contacts about Tim Robbins' next project. You should feel on top of the world. Why would you need me?" He turns away at the last moment, but Vince still hears the quiet question. Before he can think of a snappy response, some way to vent the frustration inside, E's patting him awkwardly on the shoulder, saying, "It's getting cold out here. You feeling better now?"

"Yeah, no," Vince says honestly, but lets himself be ushered into the house and into bed. E leaves a full glass of water by the bed, and say, "Promise me you won't - why won't you - just - drink the whole glass, and slowly, okay?"

He's standing by the bed, hands clutched in fists by his side, and Vince closes his eyes and imagines pulling Eric down by the wrist onto the bed, into him; a memory of a bed and another drunken night at the fore of his mind, all of the time. He opens his eyes. Eric is already out the door, and Vince lets his hand fall across his face. It's three fifty-five in the morning, and Vincent Chase is living the life of a movie star. When he wakes up tomorrow he knows everyone around him will be working to make everything just so, but he feels so wrong inside now that he just wants to fuck things up until his inner life matches up with the outer again.

The next night, Vince drinks a fifth of vodka neat, fucks the sleepy-eyed bartender in the women's bathroom, has a slurred argument with Jared Leto and his crowd that gets him kicked out of the club, and punches a cameraman who gets in his way as they leave. He swings wildly again at the man on his way down, hears glass breaking and feels a stinging warmth spreading over his knuckles, and then a fist lands squarely against his nose and he hears a crunching sound as its connects, a ringing in his ears as the crowd outside screams and titters for blood. He clutches at his face, folds to the ground with a soundtrack of flashes and clicking and yelling. He feels Eric diving to his side, hears his tight worried murmurs, and he has time enough to say, "Why did you leave me, you shit," before everything dissolves to black.

* * *

When he comes to, Vince blinks painfully at the light, at the pain centred on his face. He touches his nose gently and feels the bruising on his cheek. It's unnaturally quiet, a muffled contained hum all around, and when he looks around he realises they're in near empty first class cabin on a plane. Eric is in the seat next to him, calmly reading the inflight magazine.

"What's going on?" he croaks, and Eric looks up briefly. He waves, and a stewardess glides up with a bottle of mineral water which Vince drinks gratefully. E watches him sharply, but he waits until Vince settle back in his seat before saying a word.

"Ari did some fast talking over at the studio, and they cut us - you - a deal," E tells him. "We get a week, that's all production can spare, and if you're not clean and sober by then you'll be dropped from the picture."

"They're sending me to rehab?" Vince asks disbelievingly. He knocks his head gently against the tiny plexiglass window. They're cruising above the clouds still, and the sunlight is mocking his headache.

"They thought about it, but it wouldn't look too good," Eric admits. "And I don't think you have a problem with alcohol." He gives Vince a sideway look, then continues, "I think you and I know what the problem is, so I offered them an out." A pause, then E adds softly, "Maybe we can sort things out between us."

They land in Bangkok, Vince sucking in deep breaths of the humid air in an effort to acclimatise, but soon as they're bustling through the terminal for another plane. In Jakarta, Eric lets Vince sleep some of the travel weariness away at the hotel, but the next morning he bundles them onto a little seaplane to their final destination, a tiny island with a beach, three houses and a complete absence of the outside world.

"Where are we? What is this?"

"This is where I came. When I went away, and I needed some time alone."

"Time away from me," Vince says bitterly. "Sorry you have to bring me this time to your island paradise." For a moment there, travelling with only E by his side, his world had felt right again.

The next three days, he wakes earlier than E each morning and fills his days by surfing and swimming at the beach, and walking around the island alone, avoiding E. He doesn't know what Eric does to fill his day, but before bed each night, Eric stands by his bed and tells Vince that if he really wants to leave, he just has to ask. But Vince bides his time. On the fourth day, E comes to him and sits down next to him on the beach, where Vince has been watching the tide creep in, the breakers washing right up to this toes.

"That night, all those months ago," E says steadily, "you were right, and you were wrong. I've never looked at anyone else that way, but you. And I would've stayed forever, you needn't have asked." He gets up, brushing the sand from him, the tiny hot grains prickling Vince's arms as they fall. Then he says, a little sadly, "But you've been asking the wrong question all along, Vince. I left, not to figure things out - I already knew - but I wanted you think about why you needed me to stay."

Vince watches Eric walk away along the endless stretch of beach, the water lapping at his toes, and he stays and thinks hard, this time with nothing but his own feelings and the white noise of the ocean to guide him.

That night, Vince wakes in the middle of the night, and E is standing against the open door of their little beach house, the moon and the sea silver behind him. He's watching Vince sleep, face calm and serene, and Vince knows the answer, suddenly and surely. He was never in any danger of losing Eric; E went on ahead, but he's just been waiting all this time for Vince to catch up to him. He swings his legs gently to the floor, pads across the room, and wraps his arms surely around Eric, feeling his best friend fight the urge to settle into him. He turns Eric's face towards him and kisses him, deep and slow and with all the conviction he's been tending for months, maybe years unknown. When they break apart, Vince whispers in Eric's ear, "I wanted you to stay with me because. Of love." He stumbles over the words, but not the emotion.

E looks back at him with that hooded look, the one that's almost too scared of the good in truth, but he says quietly, "I believe you," They kiss again, this time for longer, for keeps.

"Do you want to go home?" Eric asks finally, holding him close.

Vince says, "Not right now," into E's skin, says breathlessly, "We have three days left of the week, right?" He kisses Eric on the forearm, his chest, wherever he can reach, trying desperately to make up for so much lost time.

 


End file.
